There seemed to be no end to this bloodless but threatening quarrel, which blackened and scattered for all the world like a swarm of bees whirling abroad on a July day, when the good-wives run beneath with iron pots and clattering skellets to settle the swarm ere it has time to leave the farm-town. But suddenly out of one of the largest and most distinguished of the houses--one not much, if anything, inferior to a Galloway "swine ree"--there issued a tall, dark man, who walked with an air, swinging his tartans and rattling the gold tassel on the basket hilt of his claymore. He made straight for the thickest of the quarrel, and so soon as he arrived there he knocked this disputant one way and hurled another that, like a schoolmaster unexpectedly descending upon unruly boys. And it was ludicrous to see these stalwart Highlandmen sprawling on the ground, holding their ears, which had been smitten so suddenly and with such a mighty buffeting; for the fierceness on their faces when first they felt the blow faded into instant desire to get out of the way--even culminating in a kind of satisfied good-humor so soon as they set eyes on their chastiser, as though it were not less than an honor to be smitten by such a hand. In ten seconds the quarrel was no more, and the very men who had warred and debated were to be seen most valiantly retiring behind their wives' petticoats out of reach of the chilling eye-glances and hard-buckled fists of the tall, dark peacemaker. He, on his part, strode directly to where stood the little man with the blackened cross of ash-plants, and, taking this article unceremoniously out of his hand, he thrust it into those of the nearest bystander, and pointed with his hand in the direction of the knoll on which Wat and Scarlett had their station. As he did so it was evident that he observed their presence for the first time, and his hand dropped quickly to his side. CHAPTER XLIII COLL O' THE COWS Then, almost before Wat and Scarlett had time to draw their swords and stand on the defensive, they in their turn became the centre of all the noise in the village. Steel flashed in plenty all about, and half a score of wild men crouched and "hunkered" round them waiting for the chance to spring. But with Walter Gordon and Jack Scarlett standing back to back, each with a long sword in one hand and a pistol in the other, it was not easy for the most alert to find an unprotected opening. Meanwhile the tall, dark man, who had the manifest air of a chief, walked leisurely towards them and stood looking on at the affray. "Sir!" cried Wat, "call off your men, and permit us to explain our presence." But the man vouchsafed not a word in reply, only stood and looked over the heads of his men at Scarlett's legs. "Why, man!" he cried, at length, "ye should be for the Good Cause; ye have gotten the King of France's boots on!"